‘Come on, Minnie.’ I try to compose myself. ‘Let’s go and see Father Christmas. Then we’ll feel better.’
TWO
There’s no way on earth Minnie’s spoiled. No way.
OK, so she has her little moments. Like we all do. But she’s not spoiled. I would know if she was spoiled. I’m her mother.
Still, all the way to Santa’s Grotto I feel ruffled. How can anyone be so mean? And on Christmas Eve, too.
‘You just show everyone how well behaved you are, darling,’ I murmur determinedly to Minnie as we walk along, hand-in-hand. ‘You just be a little angel for Father Christmas, OK?’
‘Jingle Bells’ is playing over the tannoy and I can’t help cheering up as we get near. I used to come to this exact same Santa’s Grotto when I was a little girl.
‘Look, Minnie!’ I point excitedly. ‘Look at the reindeer! Look at all the presents!’
There’s a sleigh and two life-size reindeer and fake snow everywhere and lots of girls dressed as elves in green costumes, which is a new touch. At the entrance I can’t help blinking in surprise at the elf who greets us with a tanned cleavage. Is Father Christmas finding his elves at glamour model agencies these days? And should elves have purple acrylic nails?
‘Merry Christmas!’ she greets us and stamps my ticket. ‘Be sure to visit our Christmas Wishing Well and put in your Christmas Wish. Father Christmas will be reading them later on!’
‘Did you hear that, Minnie? We can make a wish!’ I look down at Minnie, who’s gazing up at the elf in silent awe.
You see? She’s behaving perfectly.
‘Becky! Over here!’ I turn my head to see Mum already in the queue, wearing a festive twinkly scarf and holding the handles of Minnie’s buggy, which is laden with bags and packages. ‘Father Christmas just went for his tea break,’ she adds as we join her. ‘So I think we’ll be another half an hour at least. Dad’s gone off to look for camcorder discs and Janice is buying her Christmas cards.’
Janice is Mum’s next-door neighbour. She buys all her Christmas cards half-price on Christmas Eve, writes them out on January the first and keeps them in a drawer for the rest of the year. She calls it ‘getting ahead of herself’.
‘Now, love, will you take a look at my present for Jess?’ Mum rootles in a bag and anxiously produces a wooden box. ‘Is it all right?’
Jess is my sister. My half-sister, I should say. She’s coming back from Chile in a few days’ time, so we’re going to have a second Christmas Day for her and Tom, with turkey and presents and everything! Tom is Jess’s boyfriend. He’s the only son of Janice and Martin and I’ve known him all my life and he’s very …
Well. He’s really …
Anyway, the point is, they love each other. And sweaty hands probably don’t matter so much in Chile, do they?
It’s fantastic that they’re coming over, especially as it means we can finally, finally have Minnie’s christening. (Jess is going to be a godmother.) But I can see why Mum’s stressed out. It’s tricky buying presents for Jess. She doesn’t like anything that’s new or expensive or contains plastic or parabens or comes in a bag that isn’t made of hemp.
‘I’ve bought this.’ Mum opens the lid of the box to reveal an array of posh glass bottles nestling in straw. ‘It’s shower gel,’ she adds quickly. ‘Nothing for the bath. We don’t want World War Three again!’
There was this slight diplomatic incident last time Jess was over. We were celebrating her birthday and Janice gave her a present of bubble bath, whereupon Jess launched into a ten-minute lecture on how much water a bath used and how people in the West were obsessed by cleanliness and everyone should just take a five-minute shower once every week like Jess and Tom did.
Janice and Martin had just had a jacuzzi installed, so this didn’t go down very well.
‘What do you think?’ says Mum.
‘Dunno.’ I peer cautiously at the label on the box. ‘Does it have additives? Does it exploit people?’
‘Oh, love, I just don’t know.’ Mum looks gingerly at the box as though it’s a nuclear armament. ‘It says “all-natural”,’ she ventures at last. ‘That’s good, isn’t it?’
‘I think it’ll be OK.’ I nod. ‘But don’t tell her you bought it in a shopping mall. Tell her you bought it from a small independent cooperative.’
‘Good idea.’ Mum brightens. ‘And I’ll wrap it in newspaper. What have you got her?’
‘I bought her a yoga mat hand-made by peasant women in Guatemala,’ I can’t help saying smugly. ‘It funds village agricultural projects and it uses recycled plastic components from computers.’
‘Becky!’ says Mum admiringly. ‘How did you find that?’
‘Oh … research.’ I shrug airily.
I won’t admit I Googled ‘green worthy present recycle environment lentils giftwrap’.
‘Kiss-mas! Kiss-MAS!’ Minnie is dragging at my hand so hard I think she’ll pull my arm off.
‘Do the Wishing Well with Minnie, love,’ suggests Mum. ‘I’ll keep your place.’
I dump the ponies on the buggy and lead Minnie towards the Wishing Well. It’s surrounded by fake silver birch trees with fairies hanging down from the branches and if it weren’t for the screeching kids everywhere it would be quite magical.
The wishing cards are laid out on a fake tree stump that you can use as a table. I pick up a card, which has ‘Christmas Wish’ printed in swirly green writing at the top, and give one of the felt-tips to Minnie.